Change Comes
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: It says something about the world or just his life in general that Cullen's greatest enemy shows more moral fiber than all of the Templar Order. Cullen's ashamed that an Assassin can prove himself the better man. Cullrian
1. Chapter 1

**Change Comes  
**

 **Notes:** Inspired by a photomanip that put Cullen as a Templar and Dorian as an Assassin from the AC games by ym532 on Tumblr. I could not resist writing out this little bit.

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"Do you still turn a blind eye to the atrocities being committed by your superiors?"

Cullen doesn't flinch at the unexpected voice. Accented and as familiar as any of his own men's voices despite belonging to one of his greatest enemies. Or so he's been told all his life. He doesn't look back to where he knows the Assassin will be. Perched on a barrel and obvious to all in his white robes. Cullen doesn't permit himself to look back at the man, doesn't allow himself the luxury of looking away as the fleet Meredith commands continues to set fire to the ships attempting to leave the bay.

He can hear the screams of the women and children aboard as they go under the water in a blaze of fire. One by one the refugees, seeking nothing more than their own lives, fall to the cold embrace of the sea.

"There is no reason for this!" Cullen hears the sound of boots crashing onto the pier and the angry stride of the Assassin striding up behind him because Dorian wants him to. The man is as silent as a breath when he needs to be, and only makes a sound when he wants to be heard. Andraste knows why he thinks Cullen is the one who should listen to him. "They're _murdering_ innocents!"

"We have reports of apostates finding passage with the refugees," the words fall from his numb lips and Cullen is surprised at the bitter strain to the words. It had sounded like such a reasonable plan, he's sure, or his superiors would not have allowed it to go from a plan to action. "It is for the greater-"

"Enough!" Cullen flinches from the shout, right in his ear, as much as he does from the hand that latches onto his arm. Burning fingers that crackle with an eldrich fire that's poorly leashed and a grip that shakes him. The anger in Dorian's voice isn't leashed at all, and Cullen can hear the anguished horror plain as day. "Are you listening to yourself? They're killing children over a _rumor_ of Assassins and you're standing here telling me it's for 'the greater good'?!"

The grip is like iron and Cullen does not -can not- fight it as he's pulled roughly around to meet Dorian's eyes. Dark and nearly invisible under the shadow of his hood, but the white line of his mouth and the rage shaking in his shoulders are very telling all on their own. Cullen flinches under that unseen gaze but doesn't pull away.

"Tell me!" Dorian shakes him again and Cullen swears he can see the flickering of magic out of the corner of his eyes. Something that should send him reeling back for his sword or pistol, but that he's far too indifferent to react to at the moment. "Damn you! Look me in the eyes and tell me the lies you're swallowing whole!"

"It-" Meredith's words ring in Cullen's head and clash with the oaths he took upon entering the Order. The lessons he learned from childhood echoing between the screams he can hear even clearer as the canons stop firing. He stares into the eyes he can't see but can imagine perfectly even now. Dark brown and usually alight with a kind of unholy mischief that makes Cullen both want to smile and groan in frustration. "It's-"

Words desert him, and Dorian is no help. Remaining silent. Every line of his body rigid with a tension that Cullen knows will break one way or another. Absurdly, that's what makes him realize the true horror of the night. Because if the Assassin, his greatest sworn enemy and the one man in the world who perhaps knows Cullen best, cannot abide this action then there is nothing of worth in it. It is a heinous massacre with no good at all and Cullen is standing on the sidelines _allowing_ it to happen. It says something, Cullen supposes, that the moral compass of an Assassin -a _mage_ one at that- is better than his own.

"When did it go wrong?" Slips out of his mouth when he stops trying to repeat the assurances Meredith had given not even an hour ago.

The stiffness drains from Dorian fast and his head bows down in weariness that echoes in his voice. "A long time before either of us were ever born."

It's comforting in a way that nothing has a right to be for him. Not with screams still rolling through the air in counterpoint to the slow rolling thunder that is coming in. The smell of rain nearly nonexistent under the scent of smoke and gunpowder. There's an eerie light in the depths of the hood when Dorian raises his head, and Cullen can't tell if it is magic or simply the reflection of the blazing ships.

"Well, not much use crying over the past," Dorian says in a cheerful tone that matches nothing of what Cullen can see of his face. "What's done is done. We simply have to fix it ourselves now, don't we?"

"That simply?" Cullen asks and there's a tingle in his lips that spreads numbness to his whole face. Making him aware of how wretchedly still he's been.

"Simple," Dorian laughs like the action doesn't hurt and Cullen envies him as always for that seemingly easy mask he pulls on. The weight of what he's just suggested darkens his words only a little. "I highly doubt there's going to be anything simple about destroying the worlds we both know."

Because that is what it would take. Cullen knows how deeply entrenched the Templar order is in their views. He can guess the Assassins are no better. They're all men after all, and men are so very weak to failure.

He turns back to the bay and it's blazing pyres, and doesn't look away again. Doesn't speak or shrug out of the hand still gripping him tight. He can feel the weight of Dorian's eyes on him. Intent and silently willing Cullen to agree. Cullen cannot disappoint this time. Something fragile and bruised inside of him grows because he _knows_. "It is the right thing to do regardless."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Change Comes  
**

 **Notes:** Eh, it's all random drabbles in the same universe from here on out.

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Dorian had not meant to be caught. It was a simple enough mission. Sneak in, grab the book, sneak out. Leaving no one the wiser to his little pilfering until some poor librarian went to try and find the book he was after. An odd event given the layer of dust he'd had to blow off it. With his skills and his magic the whole thing should have taken less than an hour even with the place being a Templar stronghold.

"Kaffas," Dorian swears softly as he bursts through the door he could have _sworn_ had a window leading out. There's no time to make his own exit. He's still more than a little dizzy from the effects of the Smite that had glanced him when he ran from the library. He spins to confront the sound of boots. He wipes the frustration from his face and gives the Templar a winning smile. "Well, this is rather embarrassing I must admit."

The man is cautious as he enters the room. Sword up and he's taking Dorian as a very serious threat. Dorian curses silently again, because it's always easier to get out of binds like these when he's underestimated.

"Drop your staff and surrender," the man says and Dorian is momentarily surprised by the accent. It's thick and almost burry. A Fereldan in Kirkwall. Not an unheard of thing these days, but Dorian had been under the impression most of them had been kicked very firmly to the worst parts of the city.

He's curious how one wound up in Hightown. Even as a Templar the Fereldens seemed to be sequestered elsewhere. There's more important things to concern himself with though. Like the fact that the man isn't getting close enough for Dorian to lash out with his staff. He's not making the mistake of thinking Dorian can only use magic. Worrying, to say the least.

"Ah, you're the forceful type then," Dorian makes a show of holding his hands up and spreading his fingers. Keeping a hold of his staff with his thumb and index finger. Letting it slowly slide down but not letting go just yet. He smiles charmingly and lets his voice go low and flirty. Not as hard a task as usual, the Templar is rather handsome in his own way. "Shocking really. I wouldn't have taken you for that kind of man."

"What- No!" the words do what nothing else has done. The implications hit the Templar and fluster him. He steps back uneasily and the grip on his sword shifts as he glances away. A brief second but that's all Dorian needs.

The sword falls with a loud clatter as his staff hits the man's wrist with stunning force. He duck and jumps back out of the follow through meant to knock him out, but Dorian doesn't pause. The spell hurts when it leaves his hand, he's forcing too much too soon, and it's enough to stun the man. To drop him to his knees with a sharp cry.

"No? Such a pity, perhaps you like it the other way," Dorian says as he skirts around the man. Unable to resist a last parting quip. Something he knows full well will get him killed one day. "I am quite flexible though. Perhaps another time."

The next door Dorian tries leads to the room he was expecting and he wastes no time diving out of it. Not letting himself pause in his fleeing until he's absolutely sure no one is following him. Not a bad end to his night all told.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Change Comes  
**

 **Notes:** Ibid.

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It's a lie to say that all mages are Assassins. It's more correct to say that a good majority of mages join the Brotherhood. Some of those people even join because they want to, and not because they have no other choice. Because the belief is so widely held by Templars that they treat all mages as Assassins no matter what they might claim.

Dorian choose to become an Assassin. The Templars had so very little sway in his home country that choosing was the only way a person became an Assassin in Tevinter. He's always been proud of that fact. Rather stupidly so in hindsight, because all his comrades had been equally as proud. A pride that had led them to view themselves as being superior to others in the Brotherhood. A thought that had led to their appalling choices in life.

"They call themselves Venatori," Dorian scoffs at the name. Something to show -to themselves mostly- how very special and unique they are. "They're more a cult than anything else at this point. They're determined to bring the Brotherhood back to the power it once had when Tevinter ruled over much of Thedas."

"No matter what means they have to go to in order to achieve it," Cullen states the question as he studies the map laid out over the table. It's worn from much folding and travel but the man seems to have the unique ability to divine the most interesting facts from it. Dorian wonders if it's a Templar thing or just a Cullen thing. "It sounds familiar."

Dorian can feel his hackles raising at the accusation, and only the absolute weariness in the man's voice stops him from lashing out. Neither group is entirely blameless, they've all done more than their fair share of atrocities. All that's left is for them to stop making those choices and focus on _fixing_ things now. On fixing the rampant war between Templar and Assassin that has escalated and ravages Thedas.

As if a giant hole in the sky and rumors of a long dead legend coming back to life weren't enough to deal with.

"Could they be behind the rift?" Trevelyan asks, and Dorian wonders what his old friends would say about the man. Well, besides 'Die!'

The man is neither Assassin nor Templar, and yet he seems to be doing more good than both groups combined. He's got a flare for diplomacy that would make any politician weep in envy. Dorian's seen the man talk a group of fighting Templars and Assassins around and around so much that they all joined his little army out of sheer confusion. A confusion that seems to be permanent because they're still working together with minimal fussing and grumbling.

An impossible task, Dorian would have thought if he hadn't been working with his own Templar for a year now. Not that either of them had gotten very far before the sky split open.

"That would be giving them far more credit than they deserve," Dorian replies with a dazzling smile that he allows to stick around for a few moments before becoming serious. "It's a possibility though. It certainly won't hurt to look into it. I just ask that if you decide to go after any of them you bring me along with you. I'd very dearly like to see my old friends."

Dorian's seen the camps of Venatori, seen the atrocities they've been committing in the name of the Brotherhood. It sickens him to think that he once called them Brothers. Cullen looks up and fixes a stern gaze on him that Dorian ignores.

He'll have a chore getting out of Haven without the man tagging along, but Cullen's place is right where he is now. The man is a born planner and this place could certainly use his finicky brand of organization. Dorian watches carefully as Cullen moves a marker on the map to coincide with a missive. His fingers tremble almost imperceptibly, but Dorian has a feeling that will get much worse before long.

Dorian had argued against Cullen going off the lyrium, but the fool had insisted on it and Dorian has slowly learned not to argue with that stubborn look. The withdrawal symptoms are already showing though, and the worst of it is yet to come. Cullen does not need to be chasing Venatori Assassins in that weakened state.

"One more thing to look into," Trevelyan sighs, and the weariness in it is far too familiar these days. "Let's focus on getting allies to help us close the breach first."

Dorian tunes out the conversation after that, because it's the same arguments over and over again. He personally would prefer seeking the aide of the mages -most Assassins, but Dorian knows that not all of them are- than the Templar Order, but that's his own bias speaking. Leliana is doing a remarkable job of arguing for them anyway. A better job than Cullen is giving for his Order that is. Dorian wonders if the man is deliberately botching the argument. It's hard telling with him some days how he feels about them.

When Cullen speaks about the Templars it's with wistfulness at what he had thought them to be, and disgust at what they actually were. A dichotomy of emotions that Dorian is fairly sure the man himself hasn't been able to fully come to terms with. Dorian has had much longer to get used to the many and varied ways people view the rules of the Assassins, and all the ways in which those choices can disappoint him.

"Dorian," Trevelyan's words bring Dorian out of his thoughts and back to the table where Cullen is frowning and Leliana looks slightly pleased. "We'll be traveling to the Hinterlands. There's rumors of Venatori sightings there."

Naturally, given that Redcliffe seems to have become an Assassin stronghold. "What a perfectly ghastly name. Hinterland. I'll bet it's cold and wet there."

"It is Ferelden," Leliana quips with a small smile. "There's mud everywhere and it will smell of dog."

Cullen's sigh seems to fill the room. Annoyed obviously but with just a hint of longing hidden for Dorian to wonder if he dares to try and look for one of those awful beasts the Fereldens call dogs. A puppy. Something young enough to safely transport without risking Dorian's hand being gnawed off, or -worse!- his clothing being slobbered on.

"I'll bring extra boots," Dorian says with a smile and salutes the table before leaving.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Change Comes  
**

 **Notes:** You're not supposed to be here Anders. Shoo!

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Officially all mages are kept in Towers for their own safety with a contingent of Templars on hand to protect them. Officially all mages choose -maybe no initially, but eventually- to stay in the Towers so that Thedas would remain safe. Officially this is the perfect arrangement that benefits everyone.

'Officially' is the worst word Anders has ever heard. It's right up there with 'theoretically speaking' and 'Anders, no' on his list of least favorite things to hear.

"Theoretically speaking," Anders grunts as he's dragged over a fallen tree. Bound hands first which makes climbing over the thing without landing on his face rather difficult. " _Theoretically speaking_ , if I were to say I was conducting research on the aquatic habits of-"

Anders cries out in pain when a hard fist swings back and catches him across his jaw. It's pretty weak as a hit, but combined with the several other similar hits he's been taking it hurts like the Void.

"Shut up, Anders," Biff doesn't even bother looking back to see how much damage his blow might have caused. He drags Anders along roughly the pack of his own gear and Anders' clinking against his back as he refuses to slow down.

Anders works his jaw back and forth and deliberately lags behind to force the man to pull him along. It hurts but in Anders' experience it drains the energy faster. He's used the tactic more than once to weasel his way out of being caught before. Twice on Biff alone.

He looks at the pistol swinging along on Biff's belt and considers how far he'd get with it. Not far likely. Anders is a _horrible_ shot even when he can feel his hands. The most it would get him is likely a broken nose. Which isn't as much of a deterrent as most people think it would be. Anders knows full well his mouth alone will get him one of those probably before the day is even done.

There's something up ahead. Anders can see the towers of a keep, and he has a vague idea that one is supposed to be around the area. It's clear to him that Biff intends to stay the night there. Smart of him really after all the times Anders has used being in the wild outdoors to run away. Too bad the man has no idea that Anders latest escape hadn't been as aimless as they usually are.

Officially the Assassin Brotherhood doesn't exist. Officially mages don't band together in groups, and gather to strike out at the Templars from the shadows. Officially these attacks are all perpetuated by apostates who act alone and randomly.

"So, I heard this wild joke in Amaranthine. You'll like hearing it. You see there's these two muffins sitting in an oven-" Anders grins through the second backhand and doesn't let the blood filling his mouth stop him from telling the joke. It's a funny joke really. Not for the people hearing it, but for the person telling it.

Watching the grimace settle in permanently on Biff's face, Anders has to bite back a laugh. A night spent in some Keep's dungeon sounds wonderful really. A wonderful way of getting word out about his capture. He's sure it won't be long at all before someone comes along to help a Brother out.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Change Comes  
**

 **Notes:** I wanted to explore the Templar Order a bit more, but didn't actually get around to them as much as I got in Cullen's head. I think this is the point where Meredith is just beginning to feel the effects of the red lyrium idol. Not quite crazy-crazy but getting there.

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It was Cullen's fault the Assassin got away with whatever it was the man had come for. Just because there were no reports of injuries or missing items doesn't mean the man hadn't completed his objective. Cullen's not foolish enough to accept the initial reports from his men, and he ignores their mutinous grumblings as he orders a more thorough search. Ignores the nearly unheard mutters of 'Dog Lord' as he goes swiftly to the Knight-Commander's office.

He's used to the low level resentment that had come from his reassignment to Kirkwall and his subsequent rise up the ranks. It frustrates him, but showing that to his comrades will only make things worse so he holds his tongue grimly and lets his actions speak loud for him. It's earned him far more respect than a tongue lashing ever could. Slowly and grudgingly but the respect is coming.

Meredith is awake, and Cullen no longer wonders if it is because she hasn't slept yet or if it's because the activity had roused her. Her cool eyes fix on Cullen when he enters and salutes, but there's no anxiousness in them. Just an unwavering faith that all is being taken care of and Cullen is doing his job. It both pleases and shames Cullen, because on this one thing he has failed.

"An Assassin made it into the Gallows," Cullen begins his report without prompting. Meredith prefers brevity in the things that matter. The long string of niceties and respect is reserved for public hearings and when there are outsiders present who need to be impressed with how very regimented and powerful she is. "There've been no deaths or injuries, and we search now to see what he was after. He escaped with it. It," Cullen pauses here and the shame grows, "it was my own fault. I had the Assassin cornered and he was able to overcome me."

Cullen stands straight before his commanding officer but bows his head in acceptance of what punishment she might have for his mistake. Humiliation burns through him because he had hesitated when the man turn on him, had let himself become _flustered_ by a meaningless bit of flirtation. An obvious tactic that had thrown Cullen badly enough that the spell -released far too soon, and Cullen can find no joy in knowing it must have cost the man something to do it- had knocked him senseless enough to escape.

Meredith is quiet for a moment but Cullen can feel her gaze on him. It's weighted and she's taking her time putting together his report, bare of facts as it is. Her judgements are rarely swift unless she is dealing with blood mages.

"It's to be expected. Captain you may be, I however do not recall giving you orders to patrol at night. We should consider ourselves lucky that your usual insomnia has led us to even know we were breached so heinously," Meredith eventually says, and Cullen feels dual conflicting emotions again. Relief because he can follow her thoughts now, and disappointment because it is not him she is viewing as at fault. "What were the men on watch doing to allow this apostate into out midsts?"

As far as Cullen can tell they were doing exactly as they were supposed to. It is what he's been told when he questioned them, and the corroboration of a few Tranquil working late have made him believe the men weren't simply trying to save their own backsides.

"All signs point to the Assassin coming in through a passage we were previously unaware of, and his knowledge of the timing of the night patrol is suspicious," Cullen responds knowing Meredith won't like to hear of yet another unknown passage. There have been so many freshly discovered in the last year alone. It's a blow every time to the feeling of safety and impenetrability they strive hard to maintain in their stronghold. "The men are not at fault for it. It is my fault for not randomizing them enough that a pattern could not be found."

Especially after the last escape of mages that had led to a squad of decimated Templars decimated. Cullen had known it was time to change the timing of the patrols then, and had done so. He had not thought it necessary to vary them through the night though. An oversight for which they are now paying for.

"Then the fault lies with me as well, Captain. I approved those schedules, and should know better than you what needed to be done," Meredith sounds faintly amused and Cullen looks up as she rises. Gracefully without the weight of her armor to inhibit her though her sword, as always, remains on her back. Cullen has never seen her without it no matter the situation she is in. "Ensure everyone learns from this, Cullen, and then bring me a plan of action to prevent this from happening again when you find what this rat of an Assassin stole from us. Send for Orsino in the meantime. We need to question the mages to find out who has been selling information to outsiders."

"Knight-Commander," Cullen salutes and leaves as Meredith goes to the windows overlooking the courtyard. Orsino will be up, the man rises at the least sign of trouble in the Gallows. Cullen doesn't bother sending any of the knights he passes to get the man though. Electing to get the First Enchanter himself.

Cullen's well aware that there will be repercussions for this breach somewhere, and while it relieves him he is not being held responsible it still sticks in his throat. He _had_ the Assassin. It is his fault for letting the man get under his skin enough to run. Cullen is Captain, second in command to Meredith. He should be better than this.

The door to Orsino's office is open and the older elf looks weary but not surprised to see Cullen. "Knight-Captain, I assume your Commander wants to see me."

There's a grimness in the question that Cullen scolds himself for sympathizing with as soon as he hears it. Sympathies for mages have no room in a Templar. Not when it's so easy for them to become abominations or Assassins. Both even in some cases. Cullen's learned that the hard way, and has the scars and nightmares to remind himself what ignoring the rules can get him.

"The Tower was attacked," Cullen says in a neutral tone as he watches Orsino's face. Noting the surprise that flickers there for a moment before folding under his usual mask. Most nights the man is being told there's been an escape, another group spirited away by that damnable 'Mage Underground.' A front for the Assassins. One that neither Meredith nor Cullen is fully convinced Orsino himself isn't running. The rules of the Chantry forbid them from making accusations public though without more proof than what they have. "Knight-Commander Meredith wishes to speak with you about the details of it."

"I am amazed, as ever, at your ability to make anything your Commander orders sound polite, Captain," Orsino snorts and his thumb rubs hard at a spot on his staff. Worn smooth and shiny with years of the repeated motion. "I will see Meredith when I have received word back on the bed count."

Cullen refrains from commenting as he nods and backs out of the room. Meredith will not be pleased by the delay, but there's more than enough sound sense in it. Cullen's knights have already counted the mages to assure themselves none escaped, but Orsino's people will be more thorough in their accounting. Assuring themselves of who is present and what their conditions might be. Waiting for it can only help them determine what the Assassin was after.

Though Cullen has no doubts at all that the man will deliberately draw the delay out as long as he can for no other reason than to vex Meredith. A tactic of power that Cullen cannot stand, but seems to happen all too frequently when any demand is made of Orsino. Just one more reason why he prefers to deliver messages to Orsino himself. The First Enchanter has proven himself less likely to play games with Cullen than any messenger in the past, and Cullen is willing to perform the menial task if it lessens some of the stifling antagonism that clouds the Tower these days.

There's too much already, and tonight's events will be no help at all. Cullen can feel the iron clad control needed to run a Tower slipping through his fingers, and is at a loss as to what to do about it. The Knight-Commander has her ideas of course, and Cullen knows she is relentless in her petitions to the Grand Cleric.

He'd doubted the necessity of the Rite before the night, but he wonders now if he shouldn't be more supportive of the idea when it comes up in discussions with Meredith. Cullen has always erred on the side of the Grand Cleric who sees the Rite as a last resort, and has hedged his suggestions in line with her when Meredith requested his opinion. He wonders now if hasn't been too sympathetic again. If he isn't making the same mistakes he made in Kinloch and is headed to another disaster.

Cullen sighs and sets aside his wondering firmly. For the moment, doubting his own decisions will do him no good. There is an investigation to be made and an Assassin to be tracked. All other things can wait for a better time to be thought on.

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End file.
